The Notion
by Hatsumomoji
Summary: Kyoya deals with the realization of his feelings, but maybe Haruhi already knew that.


This is the week of midterms and I have time to write!

I don't know what to do with myself!

Well. A lot of people seem to really like "Apathy", my other piece, so consider this an extension of what that should have been, like a rewrite but different. I put this together in less than an hour. ^_^;

* * *

Haruhi was leaning back, her hair fanned across her shoulders and her head tilted when Kyoya first noticed it. His mind raced- at first he hardly knew what he was thinking. But in the instant he recognized it for what it was, and he looked back at Haruhi's closed eyes and parted, swollen lips, and oh- then he knew it.

And how.

He was seized by it, his eyes flew open wide and he half jumped out of his chair. Haruhi opened her eyes and gazed curiously at him from across the table. She straightened, and extending a hand towards him she asked,

"What's wrong?"

Kyoya fought for control, his eyes narrowing and his lips hardening, and he slowly slipped back into his seat. He concentrated on the question.

"It's nothing, nothing."

But he was looking at her upturned hand, her large, clear eyes and that bare, white, open palm. He stared at it for a long time, and when she spoke again he managed to find himself.

Unsteadily, albeit, but nonetheless.

"Kyoya, what are you thinking?" she leaned her cheek on her hand and looked at him inquiringly.

He averted his gaze.

"Nothing of significance." he replied coolly, but with restraint.

"I see."

Haruhi pulled back at last and resumed her former place, leaning back against the wall with closed eyes.

Much later he would remember that gesture of her closed hand, her tilted face and dark eyelashes. He experienced something like it long ago, those soft eyes were turned to him and she stared at him with her penetrating gaze. Something stirred in him, but it melted away before he could recognize it. But now, sitting before her in the quiet room, he recalled that instant when he ought to have known what he felt. He ought to have understood then, and maybe he did, but he suppressed it. That was certainly like him. But those stifled feelings were now bursting from the center of his chest and all he could do was feel, feel, really _feel_ the surge of emotion he'd been denying.

How incredible.

The curtains swayed. Kyoya reached for the notebook sitting idly on the table and glanced around for his pen. He found it resting near Haruhi's hand. He gazed without much thought at the slope of her wrist and the curve of her arm, all the way to the arch of her bare throat. He caught his breath. He hardly knew what to do with these sensations. He watched her hungrily, like he couldn't look enough, like he'd never truly seen her before. Haruhi opened her eyes then, and she met his gaze unexpectedly. His eyes were dark in his serious face, but she smiled warmly.

"Kyoya," she murmured, and his heart constricted. How could he have been so ignorant? How had he been able to deceive himself for so long?

"I'll make some tea, would you like a cup?" she asked. He inclined his head, but said nothing. She slid forward in her chair and walked to the back of the room, the curtains brushing her as she passed. It was remarkable that he'd been alone with her for so long and he barely noticed her. Now he was acutely aware of her. The revelation of his feelings was barely two minutes old, and already he was thinking, evaluating, plotting his next move.

Then Haruhi was back, two porcelain cups in her hand, and when she offered him one he took it without looking up.

"You could at least say thank you," she scolded, but she smiled.

"Thank you," said Kyoya expressionlessly.

"I see you're just overflowing with gratitude."

Kyoya raised an eyebrow and sipped from his cup. "Hm, do I seem cold and unfriendly to you?"

"Well, not unfriendly," she said, taking her seat.

"Just cold? Then that gives us something to build on."

She laughed, and he felt the corners of his lips twitch. He hadn't heard her laugh like that in a while, or perhaps never, because before he had not paid attention. He drank in her smile, the sound of her mirth and he clutched his pen.

Haruhi reached across the table and dropped two cubes of sugar into her cup. She stirred lightly and resting her cheek in her palm she asked again,

"What are you thinking about that makes you look so serious, Kyoya?""I am always serious." he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Yes," she smiled to herself. "But today, you're especially so."

Kyoya did not reply and she shifted. She looked at him placidly and said softly,

"Is something wrong?"

Kyoya grasped the pen firmly and began to write furiously.

"Not at all."

"Are you sure?"

"Certainly."

Haruhi frowned slightly. "I think you're lying."

"You're free to think what you like."

"I'm only trying to be helpful."

"You are doing more than enough."

The way he said it sounded like an implication. He tapped his hand methodically against the edge of the table and studied the ovals of her fingernails. Perhaps he meant to say it. Perhaps he wanted his words to say more than what he meant; to speak for him. In any case, Kyoya absolutely ceased from speaking again, and he clicked his pen distractedly.

But Haruhi reached out to cover his hand, her dark clear eyes twinkling.

"What's on your mind?" she murmured.

Kyoya's thoughts flashed rapidly and he frowned in concentration. He looked at her fingers splayed across his wrist and the sight banished everything he planned to say.

"Well." he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "I've come to a realization."

"Hm." she traced the outline of his hand with her finger. His eyes narrowed darkly and he lowered his voice. In a deep vibrato he chided,

"Stop that."

Haruhi looked up questioningly. Kyoya sucked in his breath.

"You must know what I'm trying to say."

"Yes." Her lips curved.

"Then I'm sure you can think of something better to do."

She chided him softly and pulled back. She was waiting for him to say it, and he knew that. He knew, and yet his lips remained firmly closed, his eyes drinking in her wicked, knowing smile. Slowly, carefully, he pushed the notebook and the teacups aside and slid forward in his chair. Leaning forward, inches from her lips he said,

"Let me take you home."

She smiled broadly.

"What a good idea."


End file.
